


a third step

by skeletonfics



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (its not particularly violent but yeah), Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Death, M/M, Pining, TAZ Amnesty, big spoilers for episode 25 of amnesty!, boyd im so sorry, this is not a happy time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 23:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18434507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonfics/pseuds/skeletonfics
Summary: boyd mosche had a plan. too bad it didn't quite work out.





	a third step

**Author's Note:**

> warning: huge massive spoilers for episode 25 of taz amnesty!!! (also theres some pretty vague descriptions of violence in here but its probably less bad than canon. and also death obviously.)

Boyd Mosche had a plan. The first step was for Ned to get him that statue. The second was to make a clean getaway. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to the bar he used to frequent when he was in his twenties; the one where it didn’t matter what your name was, or what event you’d just jumped off the tail-end of- you could get a decent drink no matter what. He didn’t want to be here, in Kepler. It felt almost as much of a prison as the actual, real prison he’d been locked up in. There were just more trees. 

Ned was...unpredictable. Unpredictable like the quality of food from a skeezy pizza joint, rather than, say, a firecracker. So maybe he should’ve been expecting a long wait, or for the Shade Tree to be damaged, or for him to just not show up at all. Hell, maybe he should’ve just risked everything and gone and gotten it himself. But that was the thing- he didn’t. Because, despite everything, he trusted Ned. 

It would’ve been easier to hate him with no other emotions to muddy the palette. It would’ve been so, so much easier to despise Ned’s incompetence, to loathe his tactless charm, to rue the shape of his smile. Unfortunately, Boyd’s brain- or heart, if he was feeling sentimental- had other plans. Above everything, he just really, really  _ hoped  _ Ned would pull through. 

He remembered when they’d go on heists together, how they’d worked into a routine that fit just right. It had been messy at first- God, there’d been one time when Ned had almost alerted an entire security team to their whereabouts through an ill-timed sneeze- but they’d gotten away with it, somehow. It just  _ worked.  _ They worked, together, in tandem. They picked up each other’s rhythm, two metronomes coming into perfect sync with each other. That had never happened to Boyd before; all of his encounters with other people were fleeting and rare and they never lined up quite right. So at first he’d been a little scared of what he had with Ned.

It was the moments after the excitement that frightened him the most. When they were tucked away in some dark and cordoned corner, looking over their loot and revelling in their own genius and cunning. It was those moments, alone together, when Boyd felt the most vulnerable and afraid- like all his organs were about to come tumbling out of him at once, raw and bloody and obvious. What they’d indicate, he didn’t know, but he remembered hearing about how people used to scry for the truth through animal entrails and he’d find himself too nervous to meet Ned’s ever-searching gaze. 

They were glued at the hip. They shared motel rooms, meals, that damn car Ned loved so much. Ned was his safety net, and in turn, Boyd was Ned’s. They had to be, doing what they did. If you asked Boyd to name the monarchs of England, he’d probably get stuck at Queen Victoria, but he could relay at least seven of Ned’s terrible, long winded jokes beat-for-beat. The off-key whistle that followed him everywhere found itself on Boyd’s lips at least once a week, before he shook it out of himself again. Ned had a few scars in compromising places that Boyd wound up knowing the exact shape and story of. Some of them were from wounds he’d helped to patch. 

Maybe what they’d had was love. Maybe it wasn’t. There were times, blood thrumming through him like the dance of a bow on strings, that Boyd was so sure it was. There had been moments of panic when the only safety they’d had was next to each other, hand in hand, and Boyd would remember just how good it felt to touch another human being’s skin. He didn’t know what Ned thought. He didn’t know which of Ned’s feelings were real. He was good at that- pretending. 

There were evenings- mellow ones, ones where they were coming down off their adrenaline, where it was summer so it was warm and balmy and quiet- that Boyd would almost tell him. He’d have one too many drinks (a couple too many, really), and his tongue would become loose in his head, and he’d almost let Ned know. The words were elusive and slippery, fish darting in and out of his grasp. None of them could suffice. He wanted to reach out and touch Ned and have him look at him without that stupid smirk just  _ once _ . But he’d never stopped tripping over himself, and then everything went to shit, so. 

Boyd hadn’t quite realised how much he’d missed him. 

Finding Ned again had been like approaching a mirage on the horizon. He kept thinking he would vanish, but the weirdest part was that he never did. He was there, older, but totally corporeal. Boyd couldn’t figure out if he was relieved or terrified. 

All of this is why, when he lets Ned into his hotel room, he is so...surprised. He actually showed up. And he can’t see the Shade Tree with him, but he assumes that he has it somewhere. When Ned couldn’t do something, or he got it wrong, he usually just ran away, so having him in front of Boyd is reassuring. 

This time something seems off, though, and Boyd can’t place exactly what. Ned’s face is flatter, colder, and that dumb smile of his isn’t showing up. Maybe he just doesn’t want to spend any more time around Boyd. Maybe he’s finally trying to rinse his hands of this, like Boyd wanted to do. Maybe he has just changed. Not for the better, definitely not, but changed nonetheless. Boyd’s heart sinks a little and he hates that it does. 

They don’t talk. Ned shuts the door to the room behind him and Boyd goes to look for the key to the compartment holding the other’s possessions. Everything as promised. He turns back around and this is the moment when Ned punches Boyd in the diaphragm. 

This is also the moment when Boyd knows that Ned isn’t Ned, because Boyd is a big guy, and Ned is pretty short and his skill doesn’t lie in physical strength. Ned can’t punch so hard that Boyd feels something splinter and break inside of him. Ned can’t punch so hard that Boyd sinks to his knees, gasping for air that isn’t there. (In fact, in all the years they’d spent together, Boyd had never worried about Ned trying to attack him because he always figured he’d beat him easily.)

Ned starts to come apart above him. Boyd wants to get up and at least put up a fight but he can’t. He is so fucking tired. He can taste copper- he’s bitten his tongue, he thinks, vaguely. 

Whatever was wearing Ned’s face is very clearly not Ned now. It’s something else entirely. It’s not human, that’s for sure. It strikes Boyd again and this time he’s on the floor and he doesn’t remember how he got there. Boyd stares hard at the ceiling as he waits for the not-Ned to come and finish him off. 

It waits a moment, looking at him. It’s smart. It’s probably smarter than Ned. That gives Boyd a chuckle, which sends a bolt of pain through him. The laugh turns into a sob somewhere on the way out of his mouth. His eyes smart. “So close,” he says quietly. “I was so fucking close to being out of here.” He can’t get up. He can’t. 

The not-Ned smiles, and then it is him. It is Boyd. It’s him so closely that he could be looking at his reflection. It reaches down onto the floor and picks Boyd up handily, like it’s picking up a kitten by the scruff of its neck. His body dangles. Boyd can’t fucking  _ move.  _

“Please,” is all he says. Whimpers, actually. Boyd doesn’t say please a lot. The last time he remembers saying “please” was to Ned. He can’t recall over what. Boyd really, really doesn’t want to die. He thought he didn’t care about death, figured it’d probably visit him earlier than most. But now that he’s looking right into its eyes (which are his own) he is so scared. 

The not-Ned smiles again. 

There was a third step to Boyd’s plan. He wasn’t counting on it happening, but then he’s always been flexible. He was going to ask Ned to come with him. Imagine that- how fucking hard he’s worked to get away from him, how long he’s spent paying for Ned’s mistakes- and the only thing he wants is to bring him back home. Maybe Boyd would’ve finally told him. Maybe. 

But instead Boyd dies. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello this episode fucking killed me. i dont think i quite realised the potential of moschicane until like the worst possible moment but part of that was because i didnt want to be sad over MORE old men. i wish we'd had more time with boyd's character but im still holding out a little hope for this cus like, maybe something wild will happen. also sorry if there are errors in this i wrote it in one sitting and my memory for canon is like a sieve.


End file.
